


Veni Vidi Vici

by MagpieMinx (CardinalFox)



Series: Dominus [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Dom!Guy, F/M, Guy is an English style riding instructor, Hair-pulling, Modern AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, There is a riding crop involved, You are his live-in girlfriend, equestrian AU, sub!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9916514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardinalFox/pseuds/MagpieMinx
Summary: Guy came.  Guy seduced.  That's it's, that's the whole fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disorderedorder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disorderedorder/gifts).



When you look up and see Guy standing there in the entrance to the living room, your first thought is that there’s no reason he would be going to the stables at nine-thirty at night.  There’s no way he has lessons this late in the evening, even if there’s a lit arena.  Even when he’s running late, he’s home by seven-thirty.  Given the usual routine, your confusion at seeing him in black boots, black breeches, and a loose black shirt with a crop in hand is totally understandable.

It takes you a couple of extra seconds to realize that the riding crop in his hand comes from the closet, not from the tack room at the stables, and that he’s watching you with a smoldering smirk, waiting for you to figure it out.  He must see that you’ve understood, because now he’s prowling toward you, tapping the head of the crop in the palm of his other hand.

“Put that away,” he orders, gesturing to your laptop with a flick of the crop.  Your eyes follow the loop of leather briefly before returning to his face, to bright blue eyes framed by dark sweeps of lashes, sharp cheekbones and strong jawline framed by soft waves of dark hair.  You stare up at him as he towers over you while you close your laptop’s screen, unable to look away as you pick it up to set it aside, out of the way.

“Get up,” he orders briefly, looking pleased with your obedience, and you do.  Standing doesn’t make you feel any less small next to him considering just how tall he is, a couple of inches over six feet, but it hardly matters when he wraps his freehand around your waist and pulls you against his body. The head of the crop comes to a gentle rest over your lips, resting there lightly.  You could kiss it, but Guy looks like he wants to say something.

“You know what this is for, don’t you, darling?” he purrs, his British accent more apparent now that he’s excited and aroused, his cock already a solid warmth against you.  You nod, and he pats your lips with the crop as he says, “And you’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” you murmur, your lips against the leather, “I’ll be a good girl for you.”  You punctuate this with a kiss to the crop, and Guy’s expression gets darker, hungrier.

“Lovely,” he answers, “Very lovely.  Let’s just get this off then, hmm?”  The leather tip of the riding crop is removed from your mouth and both his hands are hooked into the hem of your shirt, easily pulling it over your head and off once you lift your arms.  He drops it onto the floor and goes for the bralette you’re wearing, pulling that off over your head too, before attacking your sweatpants and panties all in one go.  He pushes the fabric past your hips and it falls to your ankles.  You step out of them and kick them aside in the direction of the rest of your clothing.

“Oh!”  The utterance is breathy and surprised and quickly stifled as Guy pushes you back down onto the couch, one large hand splayed across your chest.  He follows you, one knee landing on the edge of the seat cushion by your thigh, bending to press his mouth to yours.  His lips are soft and warm, the stubble on his chin scraping gently over your skin at first, and then harder as he deepens the kiss, his tongue passing into your mouth.  You lift your hands, wrap them around his neck, unable to resist burying your fingers in his hair.  It’s soft in your fists, and you loosen your grip to wrap strands around your fingers, enjoying the pleasant slide of it against your skin.

You smirk against his mouth, and then you pull on his hair.  The results are immediate and satisfying, Guy letting out a long, low moan against your lips that makes you shiver.  You pull on his hair again and he gasps, shudders, and pulls away, panting.  He doesn’t go too far, you’ve still got a solid hold of his head via his hair, but he takes a second to recover himself.

“I thought you said you were going to be a good girl,” he says, sounding severe.

“But I love your hair,” you say in your own defense though you sound more innocent than anything else.  His hand twitches in your peripheral vision and you yelp when the crop swats the side of your thigh.  It isn’t hard enough to really hurt, but the surprise of it more than compensates for the lack of force.

“Good girls,” he says pointedly, his hand twitching again and the head of the crop landing in a different place on your thigh.  This time you don’t jump, though you can’t stop yourself from twitching as he continues, “Behave themselves.  Pulling my hair is not behaving yourself, darling.”

“But you love it so much,” you remind him, “I heard you moan when I did it, like you always do, Sir.”  You shift, sit up straight and press a kiss to his lips, pulling lightly on his hair as you do.  He makes a needy little sound against your mouth, and you nip his lip to punctuate your point.

“You,” he growls between kisses, “Are certainly earning this crop.”  The hand that has, until now, been resting against your breastbone slides up and over your collarbone, wraps firmly around the back of your neck.  He changes the angle so that he can slot his mouth against yours better, and you tighten your grip on his hair, trying to pull him closer than he already is.

“Turn over,” he tells you the next time he pulls away, ignoring your whine of protest, “Get your hands out of my hair and turn over, like the good girl you say you are.”  Your sigh is really more of a huff, but your show of displeasure hides how excited you are for him to really use that riding crop.  It’s not the first time, but every time the crop gets involved it seems to be even better than the last.

His hands are gentle on your hips as he urges you to turn over, easing himself off the couch as you brace your hands on the back of the couch.  You look back at him over your shoulder, and he tsks at you, says, “Spread your legs.”

You turn back to the back of the couch and shuffle your knees further apart, end up with one knee on one seat cushion and one knee on another, but when no further criticism is forthcoming, you guess that it must be acceptable.  Confirmation comes in the form of the crop being dragged lightly over your exposed ass, a sensation that terminates in a gentle swat that makes you flinch, but too soft to cause you to make any sound.  

“You remember your safeword?” Guy asks, tracing a long, tickling line over your other buttock.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, glancing back over your shoulder.  He gives you another sweet little tap of the crop against your ass, tsks again.

“Eyes forward, darling,” he orders, and you obey, tightening your grip on the back of the couch, knowing what’s coming.  

Sometimes Guy comments on your tension, sometimes he’ll even talk you into a slightly more relaxed state before starting with the crop.  Today, he does neither, and the first impact stings and makes you squeak and squirm.  The second comes too quick for you to get yourself under control, a third and a fourth passing before you’re able to calm yourself enough to arch your back and present yourself for him the way he likes.  

He alternates between cheeks, and though there’s some overlap, he’s careful not to land too many strikes in the same place too quickly.  He’s too strong, too powerful to risk being careless with it though you wouldn’t mind too much if you had trouble sitting down this week.  The sting gives way to a sense of radiant warmth that covers the majority of your backside, a feeling that’s pleasantly uncomfortable.  You wish you could watch Guy’s face as he wields that crop, see if he enjoys spanking you with it as much you enjoy him doing it.

You yelp when the crop comes down hard on a place that’s quickly becoming sore, and then suddenly there’s a flurry of sharp little smacks on the crease where your ass meets the tops of your thighs.  You squirm and can’t stop yourself from whimpering because the skin there is more sensitive and it hurts more, some of the hits drifting to your inner thighs, dangerously close to your pussy.  Your legs are shaking with the effort of trying not to snap them closed, afraid that he’ll whip the tender flesh between them.  He’s never done so before, but that doesn’t stop you from being afraid of what’s likely to be very real pain.

Abruptly, the crop is no longer swishing through the air.  Instead, Guy’s hands are on your sore ass, palming the cheeks, lifting and spreading them apart as he goes to his knees.  The sensation of it makes you gasp for breath, his hands feeling nearly cool on your hot flesh.  His thumbs have reached under you, spreading and pinning the folds of your cunt open, prompting a moan from you.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, one thumb circling your entrance for a moment, gathering slickness on the tip of it before he shifts his hand.  His fingers drag over your heated buttock and you moan again, resting your cheek against the back of the couch as his thumb slides forward too easily to your clit.  He rubs it and you buck, whining when his hand moves back, his thumb back to just pinning you wide open.  The next thing you feel is his tongue licking a long, broad stripe over you from your clit to your ass, and then again and again and again, over and over.

He says something against your pussy that might have been “you taste so fucking good”, but is too muffled for you to really make out.  He laps at you, sucks on the folds, traces patterns over your cunt with his tongue, probes you with the tip of it, occasionally fucking you shallowly.  At some point, your hips seem to have gained a mind of their own, rocking back against his face, trying to ride him and control your own pleasure.  It doesn’t little to nothing, or at least it’s nothing in comparison to when his shifts his grip on your sore ass.  Every movement of his hand against your burning skin is delicious, but the combination of his fingers squeezing and forcing you further open for him has you keening into the back of the couch.

A long, final drag of his tongue over your pussy is followed by Guy saying, “I should have whipped your tits too, not just your pretty ass.  I suppose there’s next time.”  He’s dropping kisses on your skin between his fingers, and then he lets go.  You hear more than see him rising to his feet, hear him popping open the button on the fly of his riding breeches and pulling down the zipper.  He rests the hand with the crop on the small of your back, his other hand guiding his cock against you.  It seems like it’s happening faster than you’re able to comprehend, but then he’s pushing into you and filling you up and stretching you open.

It’s exquisite, the sensation of him splitting your achingly empty cunt open, and you’re so wet that he bottoms out on that first thrust, slipping deep into you, hips flush against your heated skin.  He wraps his freehand around your hip, starts slow and easy, nearly pulling out of you completely before sliding all the way back in.  You whine loudly, rocking back against him, asking for more, wanting the ache of him slamming into you, his hips slapping against your sore ass.  He shushes you, the handle of the riding crop digging into your spine as he leans on you a little.

He picks up the pace, gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts, but he still doesn’t have the patience to really drag it out.  You’re beginning him for more before he gets there, but then you’re crying out with every thrust as he rams himself home into your body.  Your entire body sways every time though you try to brace yourself against the back of the couch with your arms.  His hand tightens around your hip, probably with enough force to bruise, and he’s starting to pull you back towards him as he thrusts, encouraging you to move with him.

You push back against him to meet his thrusts, your head falling back with the pleasure of it.  The hand with the riding crop leaves your back, reaches forward to wrap around your throat.  He bends, and then his lips brush your forehead, his hips slowing for a moment to allow for this touch of sweetness.  When he pulls away, the hand with the crop releases your throat and instead grips your hip, the handle of it digging into your hipbone.  His other hand lets go of your hip, slides over your sweat-slick skin to your pubic bone, and then further down.  

His fingers find your clit quickly, his confidence with your body born of familiarity.  He rubs the little bundle of nerves in a circle, and then in a figure eight pattern, alternating between the two of them unless he loses tracks.  He loses track often enough, distracted as he is by the feeling of you wrapped, hot and wet, around his cock and by the needy noises you’ve been making.  You’re not sure what to call that noise, whether it’s a moan or a whine or a keen or a wail or some combination of all four.  What you do know is that you are incredibly close to cumming.

“Guy,” you manage to say, “Please, I’m-”

“That’s my good girl,” he gasps, thrusting harder and faster, “Cum for me, darling, cum all over my cock-”  His fingers are still on your clit as he pumps in and out of you, and the heat between your legs and from your ass combine and wash over you in and intense, all-consuming flood.  You’re almost sure that you’re being loud enough to qualify as “screaming” though you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment.  All you care about is that Guy isn’t stopping, and that you don’t want him to.

He’s still rubbing a rough circle over your clit all through your orgasm, even as his breathing turns into a sharp, ragged pant, his hips still pistoning as he fucks you.  It’s all starting to become too much, and you’re whimpering and on the verge of begging him to stop when he moans loudly, his hips stuttering to a stop and burying him in you as deep as he can go.  He holds himself there, bending over your back and moaning again against your shoulder blades as his cock twitches inside you.  He stays like that for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, his breath fanning across your skin.  

He squawks and you yelp when your arms and legs give out and send the both of you tumbling to the couch, awkwardly tangled together and trying not to twist too much because he’s still deep inside you.  He tosses the riding crop to the floor before wrapping both arms around you, holding you securely to his body as he turns the both of you and has a seat on the couch.  You’re still impaled on his cock at this point, but it feels good to be sitting, even if it’s putting pressure on your sore ass.

“God, you’re perfect,” he says, kissing your shoulder, “You have no idea.”  He’s starting to soften, you can tell because some of the wetness in you is beginning to leak out around his cock.  Instead of responding verbally, you turn to kiss him over your shoulder, twisting around to wrap your arms around his neck again.  He kisses you softly, doesn’t say anything when you get your hand in his hair, twining it around your fingers the way you did earlier.  You tug gently on it, and he hums, pleasure drunk.  

“You still like it when I pull your hair,” you say between kisses, and he laughs.

“Yes, you’re right, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> disorderedorder aka K told me to watch some of BBC's Robin Hood for Richard Armitage and then this thing happened bc I love the train wreck that is Guy of Gisborne tbh. Also he has really great and amazing hair.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
